Snow Makes Everything Perfect
by xelectrogirlx
Summary: Vince wakes up unexpectedly at seven o'clock in the morning and wonders exactly what happens when he's up this early... fluffy goodness. Oneshot.


**Author's Note: Hey, just a cheeky little oneshot. I got inspired for this during the freakish snowy weather we had this winter, and wondering what it would be like if Howard and Vince got snowed in...**

**Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me, belongs to Noel, Julian and the BBC sadly.**

**Warnings: Contains scenes of a homosexual nature and a bit of strong language. Nothing too graphic though!**

I've always loved winter. Actually scrap that, I've always loved every season really. Each of 'em has got so much to offer. Spring is all the flowers blooming and the baby animals being born. The start of warmer weather and hope and all that. Summer is hot (well not usually in Britain, but the sentiment's there) and full of relaxed people goin' off on summer holidays. Unless that person is Howard, who wouldn't be relaxed. He'd be off printing an itinerary and organising his tweed suitcase...

Autumn is awesome. Full of fallen leaves that you can kick through. Only, actually, I've stopped doing now that since I kicked through some leaves recently and got my new Chelsea boots covered in dog muck... eugh. It took hours for Howard to get me to stop crying.

But winter. Winter is the best – but only if it snows. Snow is like the holy grail of winter. If we get it – you see the whole of England go into an absolute frenzy. For me, though, it means I get to bring out my awesome 'ice wardrobe'. Howard may sneer and laugh at it, but I know I look good.

Ahhh, Howard. Now there's someone who genuinely loves winter. As far as he sees it, it's a chance for him to wear all his wardrobe at the same time under the pretext of keeping 'warm'. A lot of his wardrobe is suited to winter wear actually, hideous knitted jumpers and so on. I almost had a heart attack when he came out of his room last summer wearing cordoroy shorts and a horrendously printed vest-top. He looked like a reject from the 1980s.

Now, I know it's weird, but... and don't repeat this to _anyone_... I kind of think Howard looks hot in shorts and vest tops. I know the actual fashion is a crime against humanity – _anyone_ would know this – but... the design can't stop me from noticing the way his biceps are more muscular than I'd ever really noticed before. And his hideous shorts can't hide his shapely legs, which I always joke about, but have always admired. In secret, of course. I can't imagine what would happen if I made a comment like that seriously.

Well, anyway. Today I woke up freakishly early. No, I mean _freakishly _early. Seven o'clock! I'd never been up at seven o'clock before, and though I was tempted to just turn over and go back to sleep, I was intrigued as to what it was like. I know Howard always sets his alarm for half past, so if I got up now I'd be up half an hour earlier!

That may not seem a big deal to you, but I reckoned it would be fun, surprising _him_ with a cup of tea, instead of the other way around.

So I hauled myself out of bed, wrapped myself in my cosy, bright red dressing gown and staggered into the living room.

Naboo and Bollo were clearly still sleeping off last night's indulgences, and would be for a while yet, I would imagine. Actually, the flat looked kind of interesting this early in the morning. Full of a kind of pale light, early morning light, I assumed, having never been up at this hour before.

It was kind of liberating, being up at seven o'clock. Usually I only stir at about ten-thirty, and then only to put on my straighteners. It's at least twelve o'clock before I make it down to the shop. It's a wonder Naboo hasn't fired me yet.

In the kitchen I set the kettle on to boil and find two mugs from the cabinet. It always amuses me how me and Howard have our tea so differently.

With mine I barely let the teabag touch the water, and then add about half a pint of milk and several sugars. Howard's has to stew for at least two minutes, with a tiny amount of milk and no sugar whatsoever.

It's just one of the things I love about him.

Did I say love? Well... yes, I do. I love almost everything about him – though I'd never let on. I love the way he says 'sir' in almost every sentence. I love his nervousness and awkwardness in social situations. I love the way he'll tug at his moustache when he gets anxious. I even love his pomposity and the way he'll always promote himself as 'a man of action'. I'd never let on. He thinks I'm an idiot. An adorable idiot, yes. His idiot best friend, yes. Someone to be patronised and treated similarly to a child, yes.

Sometimes it upsets me, his blatant indifference to my adoration. But usually I'll find something to distract me. A shiny bit of pavement; a new article in 'Cheekbone'; or maybe a sale at Topshop. But it only works for a while. And recently it's been working less and less.

We've started having silly arguments. Usually something to do with how I'm not pulling my weight in the shop, or something I've left out of place which he'd carefully organised. The paperclip debaclé would be a prime example.

Anyway. Forcing thoughts of Howard out of my mind, I concentrate on making the tea. I make mine, taking the teabag out almost as soon as the water touches it, adding the milk and four sugars – leave Howard's to stew – and then wander back to the living room.

The white curtains covering the windows beg to be opened. So I do. I set my tea down on the coffee table between the television and the sofa and yank the curtains open.

My mouth might have literally fallen open. I know it had been cold recently, and Howard had been muttering about the weather news forecasting snow but... honestly. _This_ much snow?

Everything was carpeted in a blanket of pure white. I could tell it was thick – the snow on the roof opposite must have been at least five inches.

For a while my brain cell stubbornly refused to compute what I could see. _Five inches? In Britain? London? No way, mate. You're hallucinating_.

But I eventually convinced him I wasn't.

A weird and pure joy filled all my veins, and I jumped around the sitting-room for a while, all the time staring out at the snow-covered roofs.

Soon I can't hold it in any longer, and bounce into Howard's room.

"Howard! Hey, Small Eyes! Look!"

Howard groans and shifts underneath my weight (I'd kind of straddled him, forcefully ejecting visions of me doing the same under different circumstances from my brain).

"What? Vince? What're you doing up? Oh God – I've overslept!"

A fair enough conclusion to come to – I have to agree.

"Nah, you 'aven't. It's about, um, quarter past seven. But look! It's genius!" I literally have to yank him out of bed, noting with a pleasurable stab to the groin that he's only wearing boxers.

Forcefully, not an easy feat since I'm pretty skinny and he's got at least five pounds on me, I manage to drag him to the sitting room window. He stares out at the snow with a blank expression.

"Well? Ain't it cool? Come on, get your creepy winter gear on – let's build a snowman!" I think the suggestion is brilliant, but Howard clearly thinks differently.

"Well, so much for going to the supermarket today," he mutters.

"What you talking about, Howard?"

He looks at me with a pitying expression. "Food, Vince. We haven't got any in. I was banking on going to the supermarket today to stock up. Fat chance of getting the van started in this."

"Awww, come on, Howard. Snow's genius! Get dressed and we can build a snowman!" He sighs and turns towards the kitchen. "Oh yeah, I made you a cuppa tea, by the way," I call after him.

"Cheers, Vince." He turns around to thank me, and it's moments like this that I cherish. His warm brown eyes are sparkling in my direction and I feel like the most important person in the world.

Half an hour later and Howard is _still_ at the table, eating the remnants of his cornflakes and drinking the remains of his tea.

I'd finished my breakfast ages ago (half a Snickers bar and a Vanilla milkshake) – and was already contemplating what I was going to wear for snowy fun.

I was also already starting phase two of my plan to get Howard out to build a snowman with me. Phase one was mention it casually. No dice. Phase two was to nag until I got what I wanted.

"Pleeeease! Pleeease, Howard! It'll be so much fun!"

Howard's having none of it. He gets up and stacks his bowl and mug in the dishwasher.

"Vince, we need to sort out what's going to happen with the shop. And we haven't got any food in."

"So? We'll nip down Tescos. It'll be fine, Howard. Stop worryin'."

"Well, one of us has got to worry. That job is usually down to me. I expect all you're thinking about is trying on that new ridiculous 'snow suit' you got from Topshop."

I shrug, but I'm secretly thrilled that he's actually noticed something I buy. The snow suit is genius, though. It's silver with white snowflakes picked out in diamante diamonds. I'm gonna team it with my thigh high white boots and white, fluffy hat.

Eventually Howard agrees to go outside, 'just for a little bit' and help build a snowman with me. He disappears into his room to get changed, and I do the same.

Having already chosen my outfit it takes me less than thirty minutes to get changed and I emerge from my boudoir with a definite sense of triumph.

Howard, who is naturally standing by the doorway to the stairs, all ready to go, checks his watch.

"Twenty-seven minutes. Not bad, sir!" I beam with pride.

The snow is fantastic. Everything looks so pretty and perfect. Down at the end of the street I can see some kids mucking around making snowballs, clearly in preparation for an epic fight. The sky is a perfect blue with no clouds in sight.

Howard shuffles around a little bit in his sensible green wellies – unsure as to what exactly he should do. I take pity on him.

"Howard. Ain't you never built a snowman before?"

He looks vaguely outraged at the suggestion. "Of course I have, sir. It's just been a while, that's all."

"Well, you gotta start with a small ball of snow. Then you gotta roll it around for a while until it becomes... well... a snowman."

Howard nods and obediently starts rolling a small ball of snow around. I watch him for a while. His tongue is poking out in concentration and the cold wind is blowing his curls all around his face.

Sighing for reasons I'm not entirely sure about I join him. Within minutes we've got a head and most of the body. The snow is so thick that even making a decent-sized snowman doesn't impact much upon the covering on the pavement and road.

Howard stands back, hands on his hips, surveying the huge mound of snow which will be the body and the smaller one which is the head.

"How're we gonna get the head onto the body?" he asks, frowning. Honestly. Like snow is _heavy_. Unconcerned I skip across to the head and bend to lift it.

"It's not exactly a problem, Howard," I snigger.

I start to lift the ball of snow, and immediately topple backwards – the head clutched to my chest. How on earth can a lump of frozen water be _heavy_?

"Not exactly a problem, eh, Vince?"

I groan. The cold is starting to seep through my 'snow suit' and I'm pretty sure I messed up my hair from flinging it onto the pavement.

"Help me up can't you?"

As he approaches and extends a hand to help me up, I yank on his offered arm and he ends up in a heap next to me, snow particles dusting his hair.

"How dare you, sir?" he splutters indignantly. But to my surprise he doesn't pick himself up and storm off into the house in a mood. Instead he flops his head back, and stares up at the sky. I twist my head to look at him.

His cheeks are flushed with the cold and his curls are starting to straighten out thanks to the wet from the snow. But his small brown eyes are glittering and there's a grin twitching at the side of his mouth.

"Didn't think the head would be that heavy," I eventually mutter, trying not to get distracted by how delicious he looks right now.

He turns his head to look at me.

"Vince. _Anything_ would probably would be too heavy for you. You're like a twiglet – there's nothing to you."

"Oh, great, thanks Howard. I know I said I was probably just like a beachball inside, but you don't need to go rubbing it in my face."

"I meant strengthwise, Vince," he said gently, more gently than he's spoken to me in ages. "I don't think you're stupid. You're savvy."

I'm not sure if this is what they call a back-handed compliment, but I decide to let it slide. In fact my insides have gone all warm – despite lying full length in the snow. It's been a while since Howard has spoken to me like he used to.

We lie there in silence for a minute or two, staring up at the sky. Idly I trail my fingers through the snow, lift a small handful, and then let it drop.

A sudden thought crosses my mind, and I glance at Howard. Casually I fill my hand with snow again, and then toss the handful lightly at Howard's sensible green coat. He turns to glare at me, but there's a grin on his face. Holding my gaze he fills his hand with snow, and then mashes it into my hair.

I squeal in shock, sit bolt upright, and start fluffing desperately. I can hear Howard laughing, so I scoop up as much snow as I can fit in both my hands and fling it at him. Within a few seconds we're running around, chucking snow at each other, choking with laughter.

'Alright, enough, enough, sir!' he splutters after a particularly large amount of snow hits him full in the face. He walks over to me, and I start to back away, sure that he's got ammunition hidden somewhere, but he raises his hands to show they're empty and to indicate peace.

Idly I fluff my hair and let him approach.

'Shall we go inside and warm up, eh? We can come out later to finish the snowman.' I nod, suddenly aware of how cold I actually am.

'It's still in your hair,' he chuckles, and reaches out, 'hold on.' His hand brushes lightly against the hair on the crown of my head, sprinkling a light covering of snow onto my shoulders. His breath is warm on my face, I can almost feel his body heat radiating he's so close. He hasn't moved away.

Casually, and without knowing why, I trail my fingers down his arm, and glance up into his face. He's staring at me with a strange expression, all trace of the laughter gone. Those small brown eyes are lasering into mine. I glance downwards, then back upwards. He's still staring. Some instinct takes over me.

I raise myself slightly on my tiptoes, and plant a quick kiss on his lips. His eyes widen, just a fraction. Awww shit, I think. I've gone and done it now. Vince, you absolute idiot.

Pretending like it's just a joke I give my trademark cheeky grin, and turn to walk away. I haven't got more than two paces towards our front door when I feel a hand close about my wrist. I stop, but don't look back. I feel like if I look back I'll ruin whatever this thing is between us.

I sense, more than see, Howard walk past me, and twist his body so that he's facing me once again, his hand still tight on my wrist.

A finger raises my chin until I'm looking him full in the face. His eyes are sparkling, yet intense. Slowly he lowers his face, until his lips meet mine again.

The kiss is soft and gentle. Howard releases my wrist and wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me closer. The other winds its way up into my snowdamp hair.

His lips part and I feel his tongue nudge, requesting entrance.

_Shit, but he's good at this!_ I think absently, as the kiss becomes more passionate. Our tongues battle for dominance, and his lips feel so good on mine that I moan quietly in pleasure. Howard's hand tightens in my hair. My legs feel weak, my knees feel like they're going to collapse at any second.

Almost reluctantly Howard pulls away, arm still tight around my waist.

'You know, this is all your fault,' Howard mutters, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, lips flushed from kissing.

'What? How's this _my_ fault?' I demand indignantly but jokily.

'For being so irritatingly beautiful,' Howard replies simply.

I don't have a comeback for this. I blush furiously. 'You're not so bad yourself,' I murmur eventually. His eyes flash with laughter.

'Oh, thank you, sir. Very kind.' He leans forward and kisses me again, and I can sense his barely contained desire.

'I love you, Vince Noir,' he murmurs. 'Always have.'

'I love you too,' I say, meaning every word. I've always loved him. 'And now I know what happens when I manage to get up at seven o'clock in the morning – I think I'm going to be doing it a lot more often!'

**Hope you liked. Just a cute, fluffy oneshot because I've been doing a lot of angsty fics recently! Please review though! xxxx**


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